A Comedy of Errors
by crazywords
Summary: So, Rick picks up a hitchhiker on his way to Atlanta, and he just happens to be a taciturn young blond teenager who doesn't seemed at all fazed by the fact that he is being chased by a bunch of bloodthirst, flesh-eating monsters. What could possibly go wrong? Rated T for swearing
1. Chapter 1

The streets were silent as Rick navigated the ghost town of Cynthiana, the occasional Walker stumbling towards the road as he passed, faces twisted in feral, hungry grimaces. It was not the dead that disturbed him the most, though they were plenty unsettling. The silence got to him. The pervading quiet that had accompanied the death of everyone he knew. Those suburban noises that he had been so accustomed to: the beeping of a car horn down the street, the mower from next door, the rubbish truck running its rounds. All of them gone. It was unnerving to know that those noises may never be heard again in the same context. That those sounds were no longer commonplace.

He swerved sharply to avoid a zombified grandmother as she reached out to scratch at the blue paint along the side of the car with her blunt, filthy nails. Rick banked onto the onramp of the highway, noting the abandoned cars piled to the side of the road.

The speedometer hit 30 mph, and Rick wasn't game to push it any higher for fear of hitting a Walker and doing irreparable damage to the car while simultaneously becoming Walker Bait. Rick was lulled into a meditative state consisting of dodging parked or crashed cars and lumbering Walkers.

"What the…?" Rick muttered, as he spotted an unusual sight ahead.

A young teenager, not much older than Carl, was jogging along with his left arm stuck out, his thumb raised to the sky in the universal signal for hitchhiking. Chasing him were half a dozen shuffling cadavers, all of which the boy ignored blasély. A black backpack was slung casually over his shoulder, a baseball cap backwards, covering a mop of blond hair.

Rick shook his head in amazement, as he swung in to pick the kid up.

The kid barely stopped, not bothering to check who it was that was picking him up. He opened the car door, swinging his backpack into the footwell. He stepped in and slammed the door behind him.

He turned to Rick, looking him up and down, noting his uniform.

"Hey," the teenager said causally, "Thanks for picking me up."

Rick gave the kid an unimpressed look as the dead started scratching at the passenger side door, salivating at the proximity of their meal. The kid unflinchingly ignored them, even as their nails screeched against glass. He continued to smile at Rick, until Rick turned with a snort back to the wheel. Gunning the engine, the car sped away from the growing herd.

"What the hell do you think you were doing, kid?"

"Uh… catching a ride. Thanks for that, by the way." The kid said awkwardly.

Rick glanced down at the backpack sitting in the passenger side foot-well, noting that it was covered in colourful Sharpe, spelling out various expletives.

"What are you doing out in the middle of nowhere by yourself? Where are your parents?" Rick inquired. He knew the world had been turned upside down, he wouldn't be too surprised if the kid was the only survivor in his family, or if he'd been left for dead.

"Just travelling, you know. Heading for Atlanta at the moment," the kid answered evasively.

"And your parents?"

"Dead."

The kid was so calm about it. It was a statement of fact, rather than an expression of grief. He wondered if the teenager had dissociated himself from his emotions in order to emotionally shield himself from his parent's death. Silence hung awkwardly between them.

"Uh… They died ages ago, not like, you know, right now," the teenager clarified vaguely.

"Oh, alright," Rick said, knowing full well it wasn't, but at loss of what else to say," So, what's your name, kid?"

"Alex."

"Why you heading to Atlanta?" Rick asked.

"Nowhere else to go. At least, not where I really want to go. Atlanta is close so, whatever," Alex murmured.

The kid was really starting to peeve Rick off. It was almost like he was incapable of answering any question straight.

Rick had a dreadful premonition that this was what Carl would be like in a year or two.

"Well I'm going all the way to Atlanta, so we can travel together if you'd like," Rick offered, banishing the sense of impending dread. He didn't even know if Carl was still alive, and he'd more than willingly sacrifice a few years to teenage angst, if he was.

"Yeah, sure. Sounds good," Alex agreed.

Rick sighed. If seemed like it was going to be a very quiet trip to Atlanta.

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They sat in silence for over half an hour, before coming across a multi-car pile-up that blocked the whole inbound lane. With a sigh, Rick turned the ignition off to save fuel, before clambering out.

"Come on, you'll need to help me clear these cars," Rick said, as he walked around to the trunk, to get a gun.

Alex stepped out of the car, slamming the door noisily behind him, before calmly glancing around. He walked towards the pile-up, not bothering to check that the cars were empty before he reached through a broken window to let off a handbrake.

"What the Hell!" Rick exclaimed with anxiety, as he rushed over, shotgun in hand, "Be careful, there might be Walkers in the cars!"

"Yeah, Yeah, whatever," Alex dismissed airily.

He placed his hands on the rear window before bracing his legs and pushing. The car rolled off the bitumen, into the ditch on the side of the road.

Rick sighed in frustration, running his gun over the interior of a car, he smashed the passenger-side glass with the butt, and reaching through the window to release the handbrake.

They continued to work, clearing over a dozen of the cars and leaving only three partially smashed vehicles partly blocking the road. At that moment they heard a scuffling noise from behind them. Rick spun around, spotting a figure ducking behind his police car. He pulled his gun up to look through the sights.

Alex stood still, watching silently as Rick held somebody at gunpoint, entirely unprovoked.

"Come out with your hands up," Rick said loudly.

There was no response.

A second later he heard the engine gunning. Rick ran towards the car, waving his shotgun wildly, as he tried to intimidate the thief. The car sped by the crash site, driving fearlessly through the field of broken glass. Alex watched motionlessly as the car with his backpack sped away.

It skidded to a halt a few hundred meters away, near the tree-line. Three other figures bolted out of the trees, diving into the car, even as Rick lined his shotgun up at the distant targets.

"Don't," Alex said calmly, "The noise will attract them, and there is nothing we can do at this distance."

Alex didn't feel the need to clarify who the 'them' were.

Rick hissed in frustration, "That's my car!"

"That's my backpack," Alex responded, "Doesn't change the facts."

Rick glared at the teenager, his jaw working as he swallowed a crude retort.

"Well, we've still got to get to Atlanta, so we should start walking," Alex suggested.

With an irate growl he swung his shotgun onto his shoulder, and stalked passed the remaining wreckage.

Alex followed in his wake.

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They walked through the hot muggy afternoon for more than half an hour. The heat of the tarmac rising up, and causing the road to shimmer, distorting their vision.

They noticed ahead, beyond a slight rise, the silhouette of a car and several people. Alex and Rick exchanged subtle glances before beginning to jog, daring to hope. They were soon close enough to recognise the familiar blue and white of Rick's police sedan. They also noticed that one group had guns trained unerringly on the other group.

As the first bullet rang through the air, the birds in the surrounding forest took flight with indignant squawks. Alex and Rick flattened themselves against the burning tarmac. Rick hoped desperately that the slight upwards bulge of the road, and the heat distortion, would conceal them.

The first bullet heralded the others, and for an instant the world shuddered with gunfire as dozens of bullets flew through the air.

The hot bitumen against Rick's cheek was painful, yet he didn't dare to move. Alex lay beside him, and his calm doe brown eyes met Rick's frightened blue ones.

Alex soothed Rick calmly, "Don't move. Movement attracts the eye, they'll leave shortly."

It seemed that Alex's words were precognizant, as moments later the survivors turned and piled into the car, leaving behind four dead carjackers.

The familiar sound of Rick's car driving away at high speed made the Sheriff's Deputy swear colourfully. Alex raised an eyebrow at him drily, an amused smirk dancing across his lips.

They stood up cautiously, as the engine's roar became distant. The noise of gunfire had attracted several unfriendly Walkers, and Rick ushered Alex along, "Hurry up kid, we can't stay here, it'll be crawling with Walkers in a few minutes."

Alex didn't deign to respond, instead he began to stride quickly towards the downed bodies.

"What are you doing?" Rick asked, as Alex leant over one body that had a neat circle in the centre of its forehead, and a chest full of shrapnel.

"What do you think, idiot?" Alex asked, as he dug his hands through the corpse's pockets to fish out a pocket knife and a set of knuckle dusters.

Rick turned nervously, vividly aware of the moaning from the tree-line that had been increasing in tempo and volume since the shooting. The first Walkers cleared the trees, and Rick grabbed Alex's shoulder and pulled him away from a now twitching corpse riddled with bullets, just as the teenager freed a machete attached to a sheath and belt.

"We have to go!" Rick insisted, pulling the boy with him.

Alex didn't resist.

He and Rick ran from the site of the massacre, just as the main body of the attracted herd cleared the trees. Alex tied the machete belt to his waist as he ran, and Rick swore as he saw just how many Walkers had been called by the dinner bell.

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By the time that they slowed their pace, Rick was bent almost double, his face twisted in a grimace of agony as he clutched his half-healed bullet-wound. Alex was hardly out of breath, breathing lightly he checked their six o'clock.

"Looks like we got out of there quickly enough to avoid attracting most the herd. There are only about a dozen following us."

Rick looked up, still gasping for breath as he concurred with Alex's assessment.

"Yes… Just have to… Loose the… Rest," the man panted.

Alex nodded, with a quiet hum of agreement.

"We can't use your shotgun, it will attract the rest of the herd. The only weapons I have are the knuckle dusters, the pocket knife and the machete." Alex pointed out, "Have you got any knifes?"

Rick shook his head, unable to answer verbally.

"Well the knuckle dusters are useless. I don't know about you, but I don't want to get that close to one of those things," Alex said drily. "Our best bet is if we string the group out, and every now and then I'll drop back to remove one or two."

Rick shook his head, gasping for breath he said, "No… I'll do it."

Alex snorted, "A little bit of running has exhausted you. You're clearly injured. I'll do it. I'm perfectly capable."

Rick glared, recognising Alex's facetiousness as teenage arrogance.

Alex gave him a cool look of indifference.

"Fine," Rick bit out, "I'll look for transport while we move."

Alex bowed his head slightly in acquiescence.

They began to jog again, at a more relaxed pace as the small herd moan and groaned behind them.

Before long, Alex judged that the Walkers had been spread out enough, and dropped back.

Freeing his machete from his newly acquired sheath, he swung it experimentally. He'd never used a machete before, but he imagined that it would be a very effective weapon against Walkers.

The first Walker quickly reached him. It was a young woman, who might have been very pretty several weeks ago, but now lacked part of her jaw, and most of her intestines. Her arms were outstretched in morbid mimicry of a hug, her hands curled like claws. Alex side stepped her, swinging his machete up before she could turn towards him again. The blade sliced through both of her outstretched arms, hitching only very slightly as it passed through bone, and her hands fell almost bloodlessly onto the hot bitumen, with a sickening thump. She snarled, and the others shuffled more energetically towards their victim.

Alex, now free of the concern of being scratched by her sharp polished nails, stepped inside the reach of her bloody stumps, and embedded his blade in her skull. It caught on the bony crown of her skull, and for a terrifying second Alex feared that he wouldn't be able to yank it free. Adrenaline coursed through his veins at the thought of being defenceless against the hoard of dead.

With a violent wrench, he jerked the blade free. The woman fell, like a puppet with her strings cut.

The next Walker had almost reached him, and he retreated quickly, to return to Rick's side. The man had stopped several metres ahead of the Walkers when Alex had begun his attack, turning to watch the young man's seemingly emotionless execution of a once-human. He watched cautiously as the teenager stepped up beside him.

Alex noticed his look, "What?" He asked.

Rick just shook his head silently, and they continued their unhurried jogging pace, ignoring the hungry moans of the dead trailing behind.

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Alex fell back periodically to behead the herd, sometimes quite literally. He continued his pattern of disarmament, and execution, but was more cautious in the retrieval of his blade. He quickly realised that if he tried to pull the blade out at the same angle that it went it, it would catch, as if suction had built in the skull. But if he twisted his wrist slightly as he pulled out, the blade slid free easily.

Rick continued to check every car that they passed in the hopes of finding a potentially functional vehicle. They had no luck.

Alex, being preoccupied by their posse, didn't notice the disturbance up ahead until Rick pointed it out.

"Alex, look!" Rick exclaimed, "The car!"

Alex turned around to spot the cursed blue and white police car side-along the concrete barricade around the central island. The doors were open, the car was empty.

They both began running towards the car, before Alex came to his sense and grabbed Rick's arm, "Stop, there's something wrong. Why is the car like that? Where are the people that stole it?"

Rick's eyes widened with fear, he glanced around guardedly, but the empty highway didn't harbour many hiding places.

"This is a bad place for an ambush," He pointed out, "There's nowhere for them to get the drop on us from."

Alex nodded in agreement, "Careful," He cautioned.

They crept towards the car, sticking to the right-hand side of the concrete barricade, using it as cover. When Alex reached the car, he realised something. The dark splotches on the fabric interior were wet, and his hand came away red.

"Blood," He hissed to Rick.

Rick nodded, and poked his head around Alex's shoulder. There, still in the ignition, sat the car keys.

Alex crept around to the passenger side, he peaked inside and spotted his black backpack sitting untouched in the footwell, graffiti and all.

Exchanging glances, they simultaneously swung themselves inside, slamming the doors behind them. Rick gunned the engine, dropped the handbrake, and they roared away.

They sped off at a break-neck pace, swerving dangerously as a lone Walker turned to lumber towards them.

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Alex's hands clenched the seat, his knuckles white.

"You can slow down now, you know. They can't ambush us here," Alex pointed out.

Rick gave him a filthy look, but eased off the accelerator.

They sat in contemplative silence, as they dodged the occasional abandoned car.

"What the actual fuck?" Alex asked the air.

Rick Grimes let out a chuckle which turned into an almost hysterical laugh.

"I don't know what the actual fuck, but my pants are wet, and it wasn't me," He said drily.

Alex gave him an unimpressed look.

"So, what now?" Alex asked, "We just continue to Atlanta and hope nothing else happens along the way?"

Just as he said that, they heard violent thumping from the rear end of the car.

Rick glared at him, "Why did you have to say that? You jinxed us." He moaned.

Alex didn't bother to respond, pulling his machete from its blood-soaked sheath.

Rick pulled to the side of the road, cautiously removing the keys from the ignition as he stepped out of the car, closing the door behind him.

Alex did the same on the other side.

Rick swung around to the trunk, placing the key in the lock.

He looked at Alex, who nodded to him, machete held at the ready.

The key unlocked the trunk with a click, and it swung open.

The growl of a hungry undead, now unhindered by the insulation surrounding the trunk, reached their ears.

A well preserved, tattooed hand was the first thing Alex saw. He swung down unhesitatingly, removing it from the rest of the corpse. It hissed at him, it's purple tailored suit clashing horribly with its spiky green hair and the red blood that seeped from its mouth. Rick took a step back as it lunged forward, intent on eating its fill.

Alex stepped forward and neatly decapitated it.

Without talking, they each grabbed a shoulder, pulling the well-dressed dead man from the car.

Rick slammed the trunk shut. He turned and opened his door, sliding back onto the blood covered seat with a faint grimace.

Alex slipped back into the passenger's seat with a sarcastic quip, "I hope that he wasn't in there before. Is there something I should know?"

With a sigh, Rick started the car again, and they sped off. Only for the car to chug to a stop a few hundred meters later.

"What now?" Alex asked fatalistically.

"No Fuel."


	2. And now we meet the girlfriend

Alex pulled at the collar of his damp shirt, desperate for a cooling breeze as his English constitution faltered against the heat of the Georgian sun.

Rick knelt next to him on the burning bitumen, a bucket in one hand and a hose in the other.

Alex leant against the car Rick was trying to siphon fuel out of for an instant, before flinching away with a curse.

Rick glanced away from his task momentarily, raising an eyebrow questioningly.

"Why is everything so bloody hot here?" Alex asked, the uncomfortable heat making him irate.

Rick snorted to himself before returning to fruitlessly attempting to siphon gas.

"What? Why's that funny?"

Rick rolled his eyes with a sigh, "Are you going to help me, or are you just going to stand there and complain?"

"I am helping, aren't I? I'm keeping watch."

"On what? There are no Walkers around, else we would have heard them."

Alex growled, "Fine, I'll help. You keep watch."

He pulled the bucket and hose from Rick's unresisting hands while the man looked on, unimpressed.

"Do you even know what you're doing?" Rick asked.

Alex glared at him, "First you tell me to help, then you question whether or not I can actually help. Make up your mind."

Rick sighed again to himself, pulling away from Alex and turning to face the little breeze that there was, wafting across the hot tarmac. He knew he was being unreasonable, but he couldn't help but feel that the universe was conspiring against him, preventing him from reaching Atlanta and his last chance of finding his family.

He closed his eyes, taking a deep breath to cool himself, both physically and emotionally. His thick police uniform was suffocating, and he couldn't help but silently agree with Alex's plaintive bemoaning of Georgia's heat.

He twitched as he heard Alex let out a little whoop of success, and heard the ' _glug, glug, glug'_ noise of fuel as in spilled into the bucket.

He sighed again, still not opening his eyes.

"How?" He asked deadpan, refusing the raging monster at the back of his skull that wanted to throw a tantrum.

He could hear Alex's grin, "I know the American constitution, and I plead the fifth, copper. You won't get me to admit to anything."

Rick turned to Alex, willing to play his game, "Is this you admitting, without admitting anything, that you have a criminal background?"

Alex mimed zipping his lips, and threw the key away with a playful grin.

Once the bucket was almost full, and the hose pulled no more from the tank, Alex retrieved the hose. Rick took the bucket, carrying it carefully over to the police sedan.

"I'm watching this time," he told Alex, "I want to see how you do it."

Alex snorted, "Don't think I haven't got a measure of you, Mr Sheriff's Deputy. I think you're foxing, I reckon you've probably nicked a few cars in your time. Hmm…?"

Rick couldn't help the twitch his lips gave, but remained silent as he watch Alex carefully place the hose in the bucket.

Alex took a deep breath, before sucking the other end of the hose, lifting the bucket as he did so. The fuel passed the maxima of the hose's curve, and he quickly pulled his head way, shoving the hose end down into the tank on the sedan.

Alex grimace, spitting a wad of saliva onto road.

"So that's how you do that…" Rick said.

Alex rolled his eyes, "You have water?" He asked as he passed the bucket to Rick.

"On the backseat," Rick said, "Don't contaminate the bottle with fuel though."

Alex dug through the back seat, finding the cardboard box full of water bottles. He popped the cap on one, tilting his head back, he poured it into his mouth, trying to rinse the foul taste of petrol out.

"Hey! Don't waste the water," Rick exclaimed as Alex spat out a mouthful of water.

"My mouth tastes like petrol." Alex said sourly.

Rick glanced at the bucket, noticing that there were only dregs at the bottom.

"How far do you think that will get us?" Alex asked.

Rick shrugged, "No idea. Hopefully it'll get us at least to the outskirts of Atlanta."

"Well we should probably fill up again before we get too much closer to the city. The closer to the city we get, the more densely populated the area was and the higher our chances are of getting eaten."

Rick nodded in agreement, "There's a petrol station a few miles before the turn off to the city, we can fill up there."

"Okay," Alex said with a shrug, "we ready to go then?"

"Yep," Rick replied, pulling the hose out, and twisting the filler cap closed.

"Don't put that on the ground!" Alex yelped, as Rick went to drop the hose.

Alex glared at Rick, "If we're going to fill up again, we'll need it."

"But the fuel station will have pumps," Rick explained.

"We still might need it after," Alex stated blandly.

Rick rolled his eyes. Lifting the hose, he shook it to free any residue. He curled the hose up, and placed it in the bucket, tucking it into the back seat beside the box of water bottles Alex had unearthed.

Alex sighed as he slipped into the passenger's side. Rick turned the key in the ignition, and the engine spluttered and coughed.

Finally, with a loud bang of indeterminable origin, the engine roared to life.

Rick let off the handbrake, pulling away.

Alex silently let himself hope that this misadventure, this Series of Unfortunate Events, was finally coming to a close. He couldn't help but wonder if the Deputy Sheriff had bad luck, or if it was just a coincidence that Alex's life had only just started to go to hell about 10 minutes before they met.

And it was at that point that Alex realised that he still didn't know the man's name. He felt slightly flustered when he realised that he hadn't asked, and the other man hadn't offered.

He decided that he would wait. Hopefully they would meet somebody, and he would introduce himself. And then that mystery would be solved. He couldn't believe that he'd spent several hours with the man without realising that he didn't know his name.

Alex was so lost in his self-flagellation that he failed to notice the car slowing until the brakes began to whine just as Rick pulled to a stop.

Alex lifted his head, a question on his lips when he realised why they'd stopped.

Standing on the hood of a shiny black Hummer stood a young woman, frozen in an artful pose. She stood motionless, as if a statue, and Alex wondered how long she'd been frozen like that, and how she hadn't become Walker bait.

It was only then that Alex noticed the pile of mutilated Walkers piled on either side of the Hummer, and the rather obvious blood stains in front, where downed Walkers had been dragged away.

She seemed totally unfazed by the rustle of dead moving through the tree-line, but she was difficult to read, frozen as she was. It wasn't her blank expression that drew Alex's eye though. It wasn't her ratty pink and blue piggy tails, nor was it her artfully torn shirt which spelt out, ' _Daddy's little monster_ '.

No, Alex's eyes were instead drawn to the young woman's weapon which she rested so casually on her shoulder. The baseball bat was a dark wood that made it impossible to differentiate bloodstains from wood, and the barrel was encircled by razor wire. Words were boldly printed along the side.

Alex couldn't help but appreciate the irony of the words, wishing the recipient a goodnight. If they were the last thing somebody saw, it wouldn't be a very good night.

The turned towards them, the first movement the young woman had made since they stopped. She was pouting, staring down at them with a pitiful expression.

Alex turned to see Rick's own expression, and knew nothing good could come of this.

"No," he said before Rick's hand had even reached the door handle, "don't even think about it."

"We can't leave her out here," Rick tried.

"She'll do fine by herself, but what we don't want is this car getting jacked again," Alex resisted.

"Look at her, Alex. She's harmless." Rick said.

"Harmless, my ass," Alex said to himself as Rick opened his door, the teenager reluctantly following suit.

"Good afternoon miss," Rick said, "What on earth are you doing out here by yourself?"

"Hiya Boys! I'm looking for Puddin, you seen him?" She asked, an unsettling smile dancing across her lips, so in contrast to the pout she'd sported not seconds ago.

"No ma'am, I'm afraid I don't know who Puddin is. We haven't seen anybody."

"Well you see, that's funny, 'cause the voices told me that you know where Puddin is," she said, her grin wiped from her face in an instant, "And if you don't tell me where he is, I'm afraid that they might tell me to kill you 'cause I need my Puddin."

Rick was obviously taken aback at the lady's insane countenance.

He glanced at Alex out of the corner of his eye, and waved his hand subtly in a 'get back in the car' sort of way.

Alex raised an eyebrow in exasperation, entirely fed up with the sudden acid trip the world had taken.

He moved to get back in the car, but aborted the motion when the woman yelled, suddenly furious, "You think you can run! You think you can hide! I know that you know where Puddin is, tell me and I promise I won't kill you… now."

She grinned at them sickeningly, wide and unhinged.

Alex took a deep breath, "Look lady, how about you give us a description, that way we can be sure who or what it is that you're talking about," he suggested.

She scowled, "Are you calling Puddin a thing? Are you calling my beautiful green haired, handsomeness a thing? I'm going to have to kill you now, you can't get away with calling Puddin a thing!"

Alex glanced at Rick, who mirrored the same alarmed expression.

"Was he wearing a purple suit?" Alex asked hurriedly, as the young woman leapt from the bonnet of the jeep and landed in front of the police cruiser.

She paused for a second, her head tilted to the side consideringly, her focus lazer-like on Alex.

"Yes," she said, her expression frighteningly vacant, "yes, he was."

She failed to notice as Rick's right hand crawled ever closer to his sidearm.

She waved the bat threateningly at Alex, it swayed back and forth a mere few centimetres in front of his face, like a hypnotised snake, "You know where he is?"

"Yes," Alex said, swallowing nervously, noticing that there were clumps of unidentifiable meat trapped within the barbs of the razor wire. "We met him back a few miles, we didn't speak to him though. He moved on quickly."

She scowled at Alex suspiciously, "What are you speaking? I mean, what are you saying? Are you saying what you're speaking?"

Alex watched her warily, entirely bewildered and unsure of what the correct response to such a nonsensical question was.

"I speak the truth," He tried.

"Yes, but is it the true truth, or your truth?" She demanded.

Rick's right hand had finally grasped the butt of his Colt. He made eyes at Alex, telling him silently to get in the car, to use the car as cover from the woman's vicious bat.

She leant forward and yelled, "Is it the true truth!"

He flinched backwards in a desperate dodge as she raised the bat above his head, as if to strike him.

Rick's sidearm flew from its holster, "Hand's up woman!" He yelled.

She leant back, cackling madly, ignoring the gun pointed at her, "Is it the true truth? Do you know where Puddin is?"

Alex was pale, and felt adrenaline flooding through his veins as he grasped the handle of his machete comfortingly.

"Look lady," Rick said, "We're gonna get back in the car and drive on, and you can go back to looking for Puddin, okay?"

She grinned happily and exclaimed, "Okay!"

Turning her back to them carelessly, she returning to the jeep and propped herself up on the bonnet. She waved at them patronisingly as they both cautiously returned to the vehicle.

As they drove off, Alex looked in the side mirror, and watched as she continued to wave at them long after they'd passed.

They drove in silence for a while, Alex trying to calm his heart-rate. He had a sneaking suspicion that he didn't cope well when dealing with insanity, because he was far more shaken up than he felt he should be.

It was something in the innate unpredictability of madness, he decided, that unsettled him more than the threat of imminent violence.

"Was it just me, or was that a rather anticlimactic end to what could have been are rather brilliant action seqence?" Rick asked.

"Leave me out of the bloody action scenes, "Alex grumbled, "The director doesn't pay me enough to put my life and limb on the line. And can I suggest that in the future, when we meet somebody who is obviously batshit – no matter how sexy they look- we drive straight past and don't stop."

Rick's grasp on the steering wheel was iron, his knuckles white, "We don't seem to be having a good run of things, do we?" He asked rhetorically.

Alex shrugged, "I just want to be able to say, 'I told you so'."

Rick silently cursed the kid, knowing that if he opened his mouth, a stream of vulgarities might flow uncontrolled like Niagara Falls. But he was self-aware enough to know that he had a bit of a thing for crazy, in small doses. After all, he had married Lori.


End file.
